Chapter One #2
He watched her intently for a long moment. Then he seemed to come to a conclusion.
“You would not lie about that, either,” he said.
“No. You and your letter will both arrive in New York, Mr. Stanbridge. You have my word.”
“Until then, promise me that you will not tell anyone about the letter.”
“Of course I won’t tell anyone about it. The letter is your personal business, sir.”
“For some reason I think that I can trust you. In any event, it doesn’t look as if I’ve got much choice.”
“I will keep your letter safe, Mr. Stanbridge. In return you must promise me that you will recover from your injury.”
She couldn’t be certain, but she could have sworn that he almost smiled.
“I will do my best,” he said.
He closed his eyes again.
She removed the cloth, dampened it and then used it to cool the portions of his overheated chest and shoulders that were not covered by the bandage.
A knock sounded on the stateroom door.
“Come in,” she called quietly.
Yates, one of the two stewards, put his head around the door.
“Is there anything else I can do to help, Miss Doncaster? The captain told me you are to have everything you need.”
“That will be all for now, Mr. Yates.” She smiled. “You have been very helpful. I have cleaned the wound as thoroughly as possible. The stitches have slowed the bleeding. From now on it is up to nature. Fortunately, Mr. Stanbridge appears to be endowed with a strong constitution.”
“The captain says that Stanbridge would have died back there on St. Clare if you hadn’t found him in that alley, got him to the Star and closed up that hole in his side.”
“Yes, well, he didn’t die so there is no point dwelling on what might have happened.”
“No, ma’am. But he’s not the only one on board who has cause to be grateful to you.
The crew knows that you’re the reason Red Ned didn’t die of that fever he came down with last week and Mr. Hopkins didn’t lose his arm after his injury got infected.
The captain is telling everyone he wishes he could keep you here on the Star.
The crew would be pleased if you stayed and that’s a fact. ”
“Thank you, Mr. Yates. I’m glad I could be of some assistance, but I must return to London.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Yates bobbed his head. “Ring if you need me.”
“I will.”
The door closed behind the cabin attendant. Amity reached for another wet cloth.
Near dawn the fever broke. Satisfied that Stanbridge was out of danger, at least for the moment, Amity curled up in the room’s only chair and tried to get some sleep.
Sometime later she awoke with a start. An unfamiliar flash of awareness shivered through her, rattling her nerves.
She blinked several times, listening closely in an attempt to identify whatever it was that had roused her from her troubled sleep.
All she heard was the low rumble of the Northern Star’s big steam engines.
She unfolded her legs and sat up somewhat stiffly. Stanbridge watched her from the bunk. That was what had awakened her, she realized. She had sensed his gaze.
She was oddly flustered. To cover the awkward moment she fluffed out the folds of her staid, brown traveling gown.
“You are looking much improved, Mr. Stanbridge,” she said.
It was the truth. His eyes were no longer hot with fever, but there was another kind of heat in his expression. It sent a shivery thrill of excitement across the back of her neck.
“I’m glad to know that I appear to have improved.” He shifted position a little on the bunk. His face tightened in pain. “Because I certainly feel like hell.”
She glanced at the medical kit on the dresser. “I’m afraid there is not a lot that I can do for your pain. I am running low on supplies. I have a little morphine left but the effects are short-lived.”
“Save your morphine, thank you. I prefer a clear head. I’m not sure I introduced myself properly. Benedict Stanbridge.”
“Captain Harris advised me of your name. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Stanbridge.” She smiled. “Under the circumstances, perhaps not exactly a pleasure but better than the alternative. I am Amity Doncaster.”
“Doncaster?” His very interesting face tightened into a frown of concentration. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
She cleared her throat. “I have written several travel pieces for the Flying Intelligencer. Perhaps you have read one or two of them?”
“Not likely. I never read that rag.”
“I see.” She gave him her coldest smile.
He had the grace to look abashed. “Now I’ve managed to insult you. That is the very last thing I wish to do, believe me.”
She got to her feet. “I’ll ring for the steward. He can assist you with your personal needs while I go back to my own stateroom to freshen up and get some breakfast.”
“Hold on, I know where I’ve heard your name.” Benedict looked pleased with himself. “My sister-in-law mentioned your travel pieces. She is a great fan.”
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Amity said in the same cool tones.
She yanked hard on the bell pull and reminded herself that Benedict was recovering from a nasty wound and therefore could not be held accountable for his poor manners. But the knowledge did not lessen her irritation.
Benedict looked at the satchel she had placed on the dresser.
“That letter I gave to you for safekeeping,” he said. “You still have it?”
“Yes, of course. Shall I get it?”
He considered that question for a few seconds and then shook his head. “No. Leave it there in case—”
“In case of what, Mr. Stanbridge?”
“It’s a long way to New York and I might take a turn for the worse,” he said.
“Unlikely.”
“Nevertheless, I prefer to have a plan in place to deal with such an eventuality.”
She smiled. “I take it that you are a man given to planning for all possibilities?”
He touched the bandage on his side and grimaced. “You see what happens when I fail to plan well. As I was saying, if I fail to make it to New York, I would consider it a great favor if you kept your promise to deliver the letter to my uncle.”
“Cornelius Stanbridge, Ashwick Square. Never fear, I wrote down the address so I won’t forget it. But I assure you it won’t be necessary for me to deliver it. You will recover from your wound, sir, and deliver the letter yourself.”
“If I recover, there will be no need for me to deliver it.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What does that mean?”
“Never mind. Just promise me that you won’t let that satchel out of your sight until I feel strong enough to take care of the letter myself.”
“I give you my word that I will keep the satchel and the letter with me at all times. But I do feel that, given all that has transpired, I am owed some explanation.”
“In return for your promise to guard the letter I give you my word that someday I will explain as much as I can.”
And that was all she was going to get by way of a guarantee that she would one day be told the truth, she concluded.
A knock announced the return of Yates. She hoisted the satchel and crossed the small space to open the door.
“I will look in on you again after breakfast, Mr. Stanbridge,” she said. “Meanwhile, be sure you do nothing to undo my needlework.”
“I’ll be careful. One more thing, Miss Doncaster.”
“What is that?”
“According to the Northern Star’s schedule, we are not due to arrive in New York for another ten days. In addition to the passengers who are already on board, we will no doubt be picking up a few more.”
“Yes. What of it?”
He levered himself partway up on one elbow.
Pain tightened the corners of his eyes. “Do not tell anyone else about that letter—not any of the other passengers or any members of the crew. It is vitally important that you not trust anyone who is on board now or who may come aboard between here and New York. Is that clear?”
“Quite clear.” She gripped the doorknob. “I must say, you are certainly a man of mystery, Mr. Stanbridge.”
He sank wearily back down onto the pillows. “Not at all, Miss Doncaster. I’m an engineer.”